


Turn of the Tide

by karrenia_rune



Category: Willow (1988)
Genre: F/M, Fic or Treat Meme, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fight, they make up, it should work out that it all falls into a neat little cycles, however, Sorsha and Madmartigan's relationship is a complicated one with a lot of wrinkles wrapped up into it; a look at it set a few years after the end of the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn of the Tide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/gifts).



Disclaimer: Willow belongs to its creators, and producers, as do the characters that appear here. They are not mine.  
Written for anr as a Treat in Yuletide 2012

"Turn of the Tide" 

 

Perhaps it was his wide-eyed, devil-may-care approach to life that drew her at first and eventually kept her there because it was in complete contrast to her own. Perhaps it was the fact that he was the first to see beyond her familial obligations, her royal stature, or the armor both physical and mental that she had begun more and more to layer herself in. Whatever the case, while it would seem impossible that two such wayward souls could have ever have found their way together; eventually they had.

It was tentative and awkward, and the weird thing about it when they calmed down long enough to examine things calmly and rationally, the more they fought and argued, the more they looked forward to making-up afterwards. If Madmartigan did not usually recall the essential issue of what they had fought over, well, Sorsha figured she did not really mind that much, unless it was a matter of state policy. 

Sorsha had been raised to throne, to rule and he, sometimes, as she had occasion to remark, and even overhear the servants complain quite frequently, whether or not he had been raised in a barn. 

She bent down to pick up the pile of soiled clothes careful not to get any of the gravy stains on her dress, and stolidly marched them over to a woven straw hamper and pitched them in, perhaps with more force than the task strictly required. 

p>Even as she did so it suddenly occurred to her if she might escape her duties for a moment or two, and join her new husband out in the sparring yard in the back of the castle for a round or two; it was a heady thought, and one that made her lick her lips in anticipation. Just because she was queen now did not mean that was bound to the rituals of the royal court, now did it?

***

Suiting action to thought, she reconnoitered the royal bed-chamber, the outer adjoing hallways, maybe with as much thoroughness and wariness as she ever had when she had lead her troops into battle and had been planning a campaign. This time it was not enemies she was on the lookout for, but the royal chamberlain, or any of the court functionaries. Reassured that the coast was clear, Sorsha went to the cherry-wood trunk and opened the lid relived that the servant who had been responsible for polishing and caring for her armor in last year or so had been conscientious to put it back in the trunk after he had completed his task. 

She began to undress and then put on her armor piece by piece, hoping that the sparring practice for the day had not yet ended, and that Madmartigan would still be out there.  
**  
Outside in the brittle spring sunshine Madmartigan was indeed sparring, but not with a living opponent. He had chosen to face off with the device known as a diablo which was a cunning wooden device that rotated on a metal axis with jutting wooden arms padded with leather, that once wound up made it very difficult to strike at it; and if the attacker missed it would deliver several nasty swipes to one’s mid-section, flank or other exposed body part. 

Madmartigan appeared, from what she could see, to be having the best of it, as the wind rose up in the dusty courtyard, making his loose white shirt flutter up and away from his body, she could see where the flailing arms had struck several decisive blows.

“Leave off,” she said as she approached. 

“What are you doing out here?” he asked. “And dressed like that? Don’t tell me there’s anyone left to fight out there.”

“No, not out there, as such,” she replied, more quietly than she had intended, wondering if in her haste to get out here and spar with her husband, that she had been less cautious than she sought to be. Then shook her head in silent rebuke at her own weak-heartedness and timidity. 

Gossip and rumors, one of her old teachers had once told her, were like white rabbits in the winter snow. And that there were as many tales spread throughout both her war camps and the palace as makes no difference. If she had been worried about rumors spreading about her and Madmartigan, she should have started worrying about them sooner. ‘As it was; she realized, let them talk. They don’t know anything, anyway.’

“No, but I think it’s time you tried to change-up your opponent.”

Madmartigan stepped away from the device, coming around to her side as he did so, then took a good look at her, his long black hair shiny with sweat and his breath coming in hard gasps, as took a moment to get his breath back; however that irrepressible devil-may-care never left his face for a second.

“Well, well, this is a surprise. And yes, before you inquire, it is a good kind of surprise.” He sheathed his sword, and crossed the distance between them, saying "For whatever I did or failed to do, I wish to take this opportunity to say that I am heartily sorry.” He took hold of her shoulders, and bent his head down so that he was almost eye-level with her and kissed her on the lips.

She leaned into the kiss, not worrying in the least about anyone else at that particular instant, and when she could breathe again, she said. “Okay, I accept your apology, now are you going to fight me or not?”

“Okay, because I think I need an opponent that actually thinks for herself, as opposed to that wooden lout over yonder, and I include in that assessment some of those who call themselves soldiers.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I shall make a point of speaking to the sergeant-at arms about improving the training, and you will promise me not to call them wooden louts, at least not to their faces, it undermines morale,” she replied.

“Yes, my Lady,” he replied.

“Oh, damn you!" Sorsha exclaimed. “Have I mentioned lately that you are incorrigible?”

“No, not within the past fortnight,” he replied.

**Author's Note:**

> The title was inspired by the Roxette song by the same name. I have such a nostalgic feeling for this movie, although this is my first time writing for it, so I hope it serves!


End file.
